


WOLF - Sherlock Holmes x Reader Story

by Imboredsueme



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Death, F/M, will add more as i go along - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-05-04 11:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imboredsueme/pseuds/Imboredsueme
Summary: Sherlock meets the niece of Greg Lestrade as a mysterious string of murders starts occurring, she’s connected to it all, Sherlock just knows, but where does she fit? What’s her part? When things start adding up and Sherlock gets more involved, it becomes clear.





	1. It's not suicide

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another book of mine :) And I hope you enjoy it! You can find this on my tumblr as well if you can't wait for it to update here :)

_“Where are they?”_

Blue eyes stare into dull grey, it wasn’t a question, but a demand. Tyler was well aware of the blood coming from his broken nose, he was used to pain though, so it was nothing new. He focused on the man in front of him, who with clenched fists was waiting for his answer. Tyler keeps his mouth shut, flexing his fingers, his hands being tied to the chair made it impossible for him to do anything else. “I told you; I don’t know.” Tyler says, ignoring the pain that shot up from his busted lip. His answer wasn’t the one the man delivering the beating wanted, and that earned him yet another punch to add to the very long list of the ones he’s received for the past two hours. “Is that the best you’ve got, Moran?” Tyler questions with a smirk, spitting out the blood that had gathered in his mouth onto the floor.   
Sebastian Moran growls lowly, narrowing grey eyes at him, “I always thought you’d hit harder.”   
Moran places a tight grip on Tyler’s throat, “You can come out of this alive you know, Olson. Just tell me where the data is, and I might let you live.”

“Screw you.” Tyler grits out, his gaze hard; he wasn’t going to talk, There is just no way Moran will get him to. He’ll die with this information. Sebastian sighs, tilting his head, “We can do this the easy way, Olson.”

“You can’t kill me. You need me, you need the data.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong.” Moran smirks, chuckling as realization flashed in Tyler’s blue eyes. “It doesn’t matter if I kill you or not, there’s still two more to get my required information.” he says, reaching behind he pulls a very sharp looking pocket knife from his black pants. “But, I’m giving you one last chance to answer me. Where are they?” Tyler smirks again, he know that this was it, he’s going to die. But it doesn’t matter, not anymore, his top priority is keeping them safe, and if he has to die to make that happen…

_Then so be it._

* * *

 

Seven am on Friday morning. Way too early for anyone’s taste and Sherlock would much rather be in bed. But he got a call, and a case that peaked his interest. Usually, suicide does not appeal to him, that was something NSY can handle on their own without his help. Lestrade said the man’s wrists were both cut and he died of blood loss, but Sherlock couldn’t help but see a lot of things wrong with that.  Holmes and Watson step out of a cab at the address that Lestrade texted a few minutes prior.

There was the usual buzz of a crime scene that filled the air, with the police moving about and the forensics team busy. Sherlock lifts the police tape, allowing John to pass under it and they then make their way over to Lestrade. The police force of New Scotland Yard had gathered outside what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse on the East of London. Lestrade quietly leads them inside, their footfalls echoing around the walls and high ceiling of the warehouse, most of the forensic team were inside already, all dressed in their blue protective suits. Including Anderson, much to Sherlock’s dismay.

“Right,” Lestrade sighs and he quickly ushered everyone out while Sherlock walked carefully around the body of a blond male. Sherlock stoops, pulling out his miniature magnifying glass to view the bruises on the man’s jaw.  "We spoke to his wife, she said that he hadn’t been home last night. Then we got a call this morning when one of the workers next door found him here,“ Lestrade explains, folding his arms over his chest. Sherlock hums thoughtfully, checking the man’s wrists.

  
He could have gone anywhere within the time he was to return home and when he ended up here, which means it’s hard to tell when he got the bruises. They were inflicted by someone who could fight quite well, someone who was well trained. And there are rope marks on his wrists.   
Sherlock raises his head and looks around, _he was tied up_ , so he was beaten. But that doesn’t exactly say he killed himself, he could have been forced to do so. If that was the case, there would have been hesitant marks about the final cut, and Sherlock sees none.

_Suicide? No. Murdered? Definitely._

Sherlock gets up, turning to walk around the empty warehouse, whilst John spoke to the detective inspector. "Who was he?” Sherlock questions, walking over to a curious looking spread of dark cloth, “Name was Tyler Olson,” Lestrade answers, and Sherlock hums again, pulling the cloth away from what it was laying over.

Sherlock was met with his own reflection, unimpressed, he goes to move away, but as he shifted, it caught his eye. The mirror was perfectly angled so that the ceiling was shown, but on the ceiling was a simple red ' _O'_. Sherlock furrows his dark eyebrows, turning around to look up, “Lestrade,” he calls, still looking up. Greg and John both walk over to see what Sherlock was looking at, “Didn’t notice that before,” Lestrade mutters. 

  
“Of course not, that’s because you weren’t looking,” Sherlock says, walking back to the mirror. Looking down at the base, there were marks on the dust covered floor, marks that indicated that the mirror was dragged here. But Tyler couldn’t do it, he was too busy dying, tied up or already dead. Sherlock moves along the marks of the mirror, stopping where it ended, or rather started. Just a few metres away was where Tyler was, and just centimeters from his own feet were another set of marks, and a spot of blood. Four marks, more likely a chair, so he  _was_  tied and beaten. But why?

There was a commotion from outside that drew the men’s attentions, and an unknown officer comes by the door. “Hey, she’s at it again. She’s gonna kill him this time,” he says to Lestrade, pointing over his shoulder. But where Sherlock was, he could clearly see what was going on. There was a girl, on Anderson’s back, and three officers trying to separate them. Greg walks outside, Sherlock and John following him in tow. There appears to be a lot of drama surrounding this one girl, who for the life of her would not let go of Anderson.

   
She had her legs wrapped around his midsection, and her arms around his neck in a perfectly executed choke hold. She didn’t seem to register the people around her, or she did and just didn’t care to notice. 

  
“This time, I’m  _actually_  going to kill you!” She shouts, tightening her hold and leaning her weight backwards, pulling herself and Anderson down to the dirt road. When Greg saw that Anderson was actually struggling to breathe, he shot into action, “Alright, that’s enough!” he shouts, moving over to pull the girl’s hands from around Anderson’s neck. “Y/n! let go,” 

  
When she does, Anderson scrambles away from the girl, going to stand near a car, rubbing his neck.

“Bloody hell,” John mutters from next to Sherlock. Watching as Greg took hold of her arm, pulling her away to the side of the warehouse. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing? You’re causing trouble,  _again_.” Greg says loudly, and Sherlock watches as the girl crosses her arms and tapped her right foot.

_Quite a temper, this one._

“He needs to learn how to speak to people.” She snaps, glaring over at Anderson. Greg pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger, sighing loudly. “You’re not even supposed to be here, you were suspended remember? For this very nonsense” Greg says, and Sherlock watched amused as she rolls her eyes, pointing at Anderson, “That was his fault. I wouldn’t be if he couldn’t man up about something that was his doing.”   
“Go home, Y/n. We’ll talk about this later,” Greg says sternly, letting go of her arm.   
Whoever this Y/n girl was, Lestrade seems to be well acquainted with her. Sherlock watched as she paid no mind to Greg’s words and proceeded to dust of the back of her dark jeans, then to take of her leather jacket to dust it off as well. “Did you hear me?” Greg questions, noticing what the girl was doing.

“Yes, Christ. Okay, I’m going.” 

  
With that she turns on the her shoe, walking away, glaring at Anderson as she did. “Keep walking, Y/n,” Greg says loudly, and the girl continues her walk to a black motorcycle. She puts on her helmet, and soon after, leaves. Greg walks back over to Sherlock and John, “Well that was quite a show,” John says, scratching his cheek. 

  
“Yeah, she has a knack for trouble,” Greg says before turning to Sherlock, “So?” 

  
Sherlock who just smiles answers, “It’s not suicide.” 

  
Greg blinks, shaking his head, “Of course it isn’t,” he mumbles under his breath. Sherlock then turns, walking back into the warehouse, stopping short upon noticing the girl there–Y/n– she appeared to be taking a picture of the O on the ceiling.

_How’d she do that? Didn’t she just leave?_

And from where Sherlock stood, he saw the look of fear that fluttered across her features. Which of course, Sherlock immediately think is strange. Why be startled by something that has absolutely nothing to do with you?   
She looks across at him before silently and walking out another door. Sherlock watches as she did so, and continued to stare at the place where she just stood.

 _Curious_.


	2. Y/n Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out who this Y/n woman is. What's her connection to this case? Another murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Enjoy! Feed back is very much appreciated :)

Three days into this case, and Sherlock could tell he was distracted, and very well so. This case wasn’t the only thing that puzzled him, that girl. Y/n, she puzzled him greatly, her reaction, she knows something, something that he doesn’t. If anyone saw a random letter painted onto a wall, they would think nothing of it, what’s there to think? But to be startled by it?  _Why?_

  
Sherlock had remained in his flat for the duration of the weekend, pondering over the few leads he had at the moment. He’s dug around, getting as much information on Y/n as he could, so far, he’s only found out that she and Lestrade do know each other. On a personal level, with her being his niece and all. Sherlock had his homeless network keeping an eye on her, and the people she’s come in contact with. He was trying to connect her to this case, because he knew she was a missing piece that would probably solve this whole thing. 

  
But, there was something about this case he just didn’t like. He doesn’t know what, but he’ll surely find out.

“Are you alright Sherlock?” John, who was sitting in his chair across from him pulls the detective from his thoughts. Sherlock blinks, his fingers were pressed together, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared blankly. “I’m not entirely sure, John. This case… ”

“Well, you do like a challenge,” John says, his eyes on the computer screen in front of him. Sherlock had asked John to find out whatever he could about Tyler Olson. So far, they know that he was American, and relocated to England years ago to attend Cambridge. They’ve contacted his parents and his wife to see if they knew anything about anyone who’d have the ambition to kill off Olson. But both parties came up blank, and it’s about riding Sherlock up a wall.

_Fzzzt Fzzzt_

The detective’s eyes snap to his phone, where it was laying on his lap. Finally, Sherlock thought, getting off his chair with a new found excitement. Causing John to give him a look, “What?” he asks, watching Sherlock carefully, “Found something about the case?”   
“Yes,” he nods, grabbing his scarf and coat from where they laid on the couch. “I have something to see to, I won’t be long,” Sherlock quickly made his way down the stairs, stepping out into the cold night. Putting his coat on, he walks along Baker street, Northumberland street was only a five minute walk from there. Sherlock wished he knew why the sudden appearance of this Y/n Lestrade bothered him so much.

Of course he’s probably seen her around the precinct on his many visits to Scotland yard. But he just couldn’t recall, it’s like she was invisible and then, just there. It was strange indeed. He’s never even heard Lestrade talk about her before three days ago, well, perhaps he had. But you know Sherlock, blissfully unaware of things he doesn’t care to notice. 

  
It didn’t take long for Sherlock to reach where he wanted, and as always, Northumberland street was busy. Cars driving by, people passing everywhere, either minding their own business, or like Sherlock was doing, trying to mind someone else’s.   
And she wasn’t that hard to find either, Sherlock spotted her just as she stepped out of a cab and walked into a cafe. She wasn’t dressed for a date, she was casually dressed, so it was possible that she was just meeting a friend, that or someone she’s very comfortable with. Moments after, she and shorter redheaded woman come out and they both walk up the street. 

  
Silently, on the other side of the street, Sherlock walked, keeping an eye on the two of them. Anyone of course would find this strange, because he’s practically stalking the girl. But she’s apart of his case, and he has his rights to monitor people he deems suspects. They may have been talking about something nonsensical, but from a very young age, Sherlock had learnt to trust his instincts. And he could tell that whatever words they were exchanging was anything but nonsensical. His phone buzzed inside his coat pocket, but it was persistent, so it must be a call then.   
He pulls it from his pocket, and without looking at the ID, he answers. “Not now, Lestrade. I’m busy.” 

“Trust me, this is better: We’ve got another one,” 

* * *

“Kate Francis, according to her ID.” Greg sighs, leaning against the open door of the woman’s flat. “Was supposed to start teaching up at Cambridge next week,” Sherlock moved around her body,  keeling down, first checking her wrists. If she was connected to the first murder, if she was killed by the same person, the pattern should be the same. Slit wrists, no rope marks there, though. Hesitant marks however, are there. So unlike Tyler, she was forced to, that or she was giving the choice to, but who would choose to kill themselves when pressured between two choices? If you were given the choice to live or die, why give in? What do you have to protect so much to actually take your own life? 

  
Sherlock carefully moved her head to one side, surveying the purple bruise on her cheek.   
Someone should’ve heard her, any woman, when being attacked would call out for help. And judging by the state of her flat, it got quite physical.

“What subject was she to teach?”

“Is that important?” Greg asks, watching him quizzically.

“Yes, actually.”

“Uh, the Sciences, I think.”

_Interesting_. _Tyler studied the sciences too. What is the connection?_

Someone must’ve seen the person leave. Kate was found by her flatmate, she had to use her key to get in. Meaning that the door was locked. Sherlock stands now, “Where’s her flatmate?” he asks, looking around the room, he knew what he was looking for. He looks around Kate’s body carefully, there’s one thing he’d find, to let him know that this murder and Tyler’s is connected. “She’s downstairs, talking to Sally. I don’t think having her talk to you is a good idea, the girl can barely stop crying for Christ’s sake.” 

  
Sherlock rolls his eyes at this, it was then, he saw it. Kate’s pale fingers were wrapped around a piece of paper. Stooping down again, Sherlock takes the paper from her hand, it was speckled with dried blood, a finger print too. It could’ve been Kate’s, it could’ve not been.   
The detective’s eyes scan the paper, in red pen ink, the letter F was written, along with something else.

_She’s next._

It was scrawled on, suggesting that it was a male who wrote it. But who’s the she he’s mentioned? Who’s next? 

  
Sherlock looks around again, getting up and re-tracing his steps to the door where Lestrade stood. He looks down at the  _Welcome_  mat, it’s been moved. Which he found strange, he had deduced what he could’ve from Kate, and she, was a perfectionist. Any sign of misplacement, she would fix it, there’s no way she would’ve left the mat like this.   
Using his shoe he shuffles away the mat, moving it away completely. When he found nothing, Sherlock became slightly frustrated.

   
_Where is it?_

  
He turns around, looking around the messy room. He checks the table, the ledge over the door. And it wasn’t there. 

  
“What on earth are you looking for?” Greg questions. 

“The key, the spare key to her flat.” Sherlock answers.

There’s always a spare key, she was going to be busy, very busy. Working late can cause forgetful tendencies, one can easily lose a house key. So there’s always a spare.

If the door was locked, someone who knew her well, would know where to look for the key. The door didn’t have a peephole, so if someone knocked, she’d have no choice but to open the door to them. That’s how he got in.   
But why take the spare key?

“Oh, Gavin. I really need for you to speak to that flatmate of hers, I think she’d find that her spare key is missing.”

 

* * *

“Uh, Sherlock,” Sherlock ignored his flatmate, he had come back a little over an hour ago, and he hadn’t moved from his spot on the leather couch since. “John, Check the list of students who took the science course the same year as Tyler Olson.” Sherlock says, still not moving from the couch, but he heard the soft taps of John’s fingers against the keyboard.   
“Check to see if Kate Francis and Y/n Lestrade are listed,” Sherlock says, closing his eyes.

“Why are you so hung up about Greg’s niece, Sherlock?” The detective opens his blue-green eyes, finally looking at John for the first time in a half an hour. “I am not  _hung up_ , she’s a suspect.”

  
John raises his eyebrows, “Does Greg know that you’re suspecting his niece for murder? Oh–was she the one you went out to monitor?” John turns back to his laptop, narrowing his eyes, “She could have you arrested for stalking, you know.”   
Sherlock rolls his eyes, opting to stare at the ceiling than John. “Uh, Sherlock. Both are on the list; Francis and Lestrade.”

They all took the same courses, they all knew each other in some way.

_There must be a connection._


	3. Your Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little insight on how Y/n feels. Sherlock visits his brother and finds something new about the case, but no less confusing. He finally meets this Y/n Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who left Kudos and those who are actually excited about this being updated! Thank you guys for reading! Enjoy!

Y/n Lestrade makes her way into Scotland Yard. Despite being suspended, she had a few things to wrap up. She had to be careful, in light of the things that has been happening. Two are dead, and Holmes is on the case. 

He’s smart, she knows, and sooner or later, he’d figure it out. 

  
“You know, I think it’s best you go see Holmes,”

   
Sarah Willows walked next to her, sipping from her travel mug that was no doubt filled with coffee. Y/n scoffs at her friend, “No way. He’s already sticking his nose in…” she says, causing the redhead to throw an icy glare her way. 

  
“–Y/n, this is getting dangerous. It’s not a game anymore.” Sarah says, taking hold of Y/n’s arm causing her to stop.  
Of course, Y/n shares her worries. But that doesn’t mean she’s not going to do what she’s has to. “It was  _never_  a game, Sarah. You of all people should know that.”   
Y/n says nothing more afterwards, continuing her walk in. She and Sarah had gone their separate ways but not without promise to see each other later. A lot of things had been on the girl’s mind as of late, things she couldn’t shake. 

  
Y/n allowed her feet to take her to her uncle’s office. Passing Sally Donovan and Phillip Anderson on the way. Both of which said nothing to her, probably avoiding getting matching bruises to the one’s Anderson’s sporting on his neck from Y/n and his last encounter. She walks silently to the door, before the voice of Donovan stopped her, “He stepped out for a bit, Y/n. He’ll be back in a minute though.” Y/n raises her thumb over her head and walked into Greg’s office anyway.   
She sat herself down and not moments later, her uncle came in.

 "Y/n?“ Greg was holding a steaming cup of coffee, dark circles under his eyes tells that he’s been there all night. The recent case was stressing him out, as much as it was anyone else. "You could’ve called, you know.” he says with a tired sigh, sitting down behind his desk to face her. “I wanted to check up on you, when things like this happen, you rarely have time to do anything else.” 

  
Greg smiles taking a long drink from the dark mug, “That stuffs not good for you, you know, Uncle.” Y/n says, shaking her head at him disapprovingly.   
“Oh Yeah,” Greg says, pulling a face, “Ever since you came off it, you’ve been all pissy about me drinking it.”   
Y/n rolls her eyes playfully, smiling lightly. Greg’s smile fades and he watched her carefully, “Why are you really here, Y/n? I know you didn’t come in just to talk about coffee.”

“I wanted you to let me back on,”

“Y/n,” Greg groans, “You know I can’t do that. You we’re suspended for a reason.”

“Oh c'mon,” Y/n sighs, sinking down into her chair, “I’m withering away here. I don’t think you’ve noticed but I don’t exactly have a hobby.”   
Greg leans forward in his chair, narrowing his eyes at her, “Well, start collecting stamps. You’re not back on until your days are up. It’s only two more days, anyway. Go see a movie or something, or whatever kids do this days.”

“Oh, I can see just how much you love me,” Y/n says teasingly, scrunching up her nose cutely. Greg smiles at this, taking another drink of his coffee before sliding the cup across the table to her. “Oh no, no, no. Not that again. I’m off it, you know. I took a vow,” Y/n raises both of her hands, shaking them. “A vow I haven’t seen you take yet,” Greg says, suddenly remembering when she was younger. His brother would bring her by when he was visiting or when he’d send her for holidays. She was the devil in disguise, as good old Elvis sang. She had always been trouble, but you can never tell by just looking at her once.

The door on Y/n’s left opens quietly and Donovan looks in the room, “Sir, the freak’s here to see you.” she says shortly before pushing the door open wider. Sherlock walks in, and Y/n narrows her eyes at Sally. Even though Sherlock looked like he hadn’t even heard her, she just knew he felt just a bit hurt. She’s never really liked her, she’s a good officer and all. Her head’s in the right place when it comes to doing what needs to be done, but other than that, she’s just plain horrid. Y/n felt Sherlock’s eyes on her and she looks up at him before looking at Greg. “Right then, I be off. I’ll text you at some point.” She walks around the table to press a kiss to her Uncle’s forehead, “Get some rest, okay?” She brushes past Sherlock, offering a small smile and a quiet, “Goodbye, Holmes.”

* * *

Sherlock walks into his brother’s office at the Diogenes club. Mycroft was sitting behind his desk, as though he was expecting his brother’s arrival. Silently, Mycroft drops a dark file and outs it on the table, sliding it over. “Normally, I would not evolve you in things that is strictly M-16 and classified, but I think it’s necessary this time.” Mycroft says as Sherlock opens the file, his eyes scanning over the contents. His eyebrows furrowed and he casts a brief glance at his brother, “Xavier Garrison?” he questions.

“Yes, he used to run a smuggling scheme some years ago.” Mycroft leans back into his chair, clasping his hands together on the desk. “He had a small team, they went by WOLF. We had a small issue with them for a while, but just before Garrison did, they disappeared.”

“This has absolutely nothing to do with my case, Mycroft.” Sherlock deadpans, and Mycroft smiles. “Then you should take a closer look at the photo.”

Sherlock looks down at the file in his hands, pulling the photograph free of the paperclip. Holding it up, his eyes scans it, and just in the corner of it, Tyler Olson and Kate Francis stood off to the side. Also another woman, but her back was turned.

So they did know each other outside of Cambridge. But this photo means nothing, it could have been a coincidence that Olson and Francis had been in the shot. But then, they could’ve known each other. People know people, that is how humans get by, they interact. But Sherlock was still trying to connect this to  _her_.

 What’s her part in this?

* * *

It was late when Y/n was walking home. She didn’t mind the solitude for she was often alone, but what she did mind, was someone following her. The person had been on her trail for about an hour now, she thought that maybe it was just someone going in the same direction as she was. But after seeing them duck in an out of the shadows every time she’d look over her shoulder, she knew something was up.   
Of course, she’s not as half as worried as she should be. Having a lot of training in hand to hand combat, the girl can more than just throw a few punches. She had an idea of who it was, the person following her. She saw just a bit of his coat a while back, and she knows only one person who wears a belstaff coat like that one.

Y/n eventually stops, turning around with a sigh, “What are you doing, Holmes?” she asks, crossing her arms with a cocked brow. Watching as Sherlock steps out from the shadow of a building she just passed, he was watching her carefully. “So you do know me,” he mutters.

“I don’t think I wouldn’t know you even if I tried  _really_ hard,” Y/n says, “What are you doing?” she asks again, serious now.

“Following you, that should have been obvious.” Sherlock replies.

“I can see that. But _why?_ ”

Sherlock eyes narrow, “You, you know something about my case, don’t you?” he asks, walking to her.

Y/n chuckles softly, shaking her head, “My, my, Holmes, you are clever.” she smirks.

“Clever is an insult, I prefer Genius”

“Well,  _Mr Genius_. Just solve the case.”


	4. Sniper Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to get closer to Y/n to perhaps get her to open up about this frustrating case, but of course, someone doesn't want that.

Sherlock Holmes sat in his arm chair, feet up and his arms around his legs as he stared at John’s chair. He’s been like this for a while now, his silence was normal at times, it usually happened when he was thinking strongly on something.  

And strongly thinking Sherlock was.

It’s amazing, isn’t it? Any normal case, Sherlock would have it solved in a few days’ time, give or take, a week. But this he knows, is no normal case. He knows that there is more to this than coincidentally connected murders.

There is just something about this case, a feeling that was nagging him, one he didn’t like.

It wasn’t often you would hear Sherlock say he didn’t like a case. In fact, it was something you wouldn’t hear at all coming from the detective. For he thrived on the hard to solve mysteries, the ones that took time to crack open. But this case, Sherlock didn’t like.

He felt as if he was going in circles, every time he thinks he was close to an answer, his trail would fall apart, and he’d have to again start over. His leads are scattered, he needs more evidence. And it’s frustrating to know that _she_ knows, and he doesn’t.

“John.” Sherlock calls, finally snapping out of his thinking process, his blogger, however, was nowhere to be seen. “John?”   
It was then he heard the rustle of bags and footsteps coming up the stairs. John comes into the flat after opening the door with his foot, he was carrying bags in each hand and he looked quite frazzled.

“Were have you been?” Sherlock asks even though it was obvious where he went.

“The grocery,” John replies, moving to close the door behind himself, he says, “Told you I was headed out an hour ago…” he checks his watch and nods, “Yeah, an hour—have you been like that the whole time?”

“You sound surprised, John.” Sherlock releases his legs and stretches out, watching as John moved towards the kitchen. “Yeah, I’m surprised your arse haven’t cramped up yet.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, getting up to walk around the living room for a bit. He could hear John moving about in the kitchen, putting things into their rightful places, and he suddenly remembers why he was calling for him. “Oh, John.” Sherlock calls, stopping in front of the black couch, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yeah, what?” came John’s reply as he came out into the room.

“Assuming that you’ve just killed someone, why would you take the spare key to their flat?” He asks, turning to look at his flat mate, who looked quite appalled at the question. Sherlock gives him a moment, he could see him thinking, “Well, if I wanted to go back on my own time and look for something without anyone questioning me….you know, having a key is a good excuse to get in…”

Sherlock smiles, “Well done,”

He walks past John, going to his bedroom to get ready to leave the flat. “Wait, really?” he hears John ask, sounding astonished. “Yes, really.” Sherlock calls back, stepping out moments later, properly dressed to go out. “I won’t be long.”

* * *

Y/n was walking back to her flat later that day, and despite everything that has been going on, she wasn’t s half as scared as she should’ve been. And honestly, she should be extremely scared and twice as cautious. She’s been doing well at blocking everything out so far and she tried to live her life normally for a bit. Taking her uncle’s advice into consideration, she went to do some much-needed shopping. It wasn’t late, but even though, not much people littered the streets, which was strange for her area, but Y/n didn’t mind it.

It wasn’t long before she got to her flat, once inside the comfort of her home, Y/n kicks off her shoes at the door and shoves her keys into the pocket of her jacket. She neglects the light switch and walks through her flat and into the kitchen. It didn’t take long for her to notice that someone else was in there with her, if the cologne wasn’t a dead giveaway. Conveniently, the person moves behind her, swiftly, Y/n raises her elbow, connecting hard with the intruder’s jaw. Turning around, she brings her knee upwards, a pained grunt told her that she hit her mark perfectly. Quickly, she pushes the man back and flips on the lights on, Sherlock stood a few feet away from her, one hand on his jaw and the other protecting his groin from any more offending blows.   
“What the hell, Holmes.” Y/n seethes, her heart was going at a mile a minute. She thought it was someone else, but of course, he wouldn’t have given her a chance to attack him. And even if she did, he would’ve had her ass down already.

“You fight well,” Sherlock says, rubbing his jaw.

“Seriously?” Y/n says, “you broke into my flat just to see how well I could kick your arse?”   
She had hoped that he would have forgotten about her by now and stop nagging her, but he just broke in, so clearly the man’s persistent. Cursing under her breath, she moves around him and pulls out the chair next to him and pushes him down onto it then she grabs a cloth and a few blocks of ice before handing it to him. “It’ll swell, I hit you pretty hard..” she mutters, “now what the hell do you want?”

“Since you’re being so polite to let me speak,” Sherlock grunts slightly as he pressed the cloth against his bruised jaw. Y/n rolls her eyes, watching him.   
“I wanted you to accompany me for chips, if you don’t mind,”

“Seriously?” Y/n deadpans, crossing her arms, “You came all the way here to get your arse kicked and ask me out? Really?”

“Yes…well, I wasn’t expecting you to almost break my face,”

Y/n narrows her eyes at him, trying to figure out if the man was joking or just somehow became stupid. “Fine,”

“What?” Sherlock asks, sounding surprised. 

“I will change my mind you know. You heard me.”

* * *

Sherlock didn’t expect her to agree at all, so it surprised him when she did so easily. They walked, for quite a while, and Sherlock tried his best to make conversation. She was easy to talk to, but she was very guarded. He couldn’t just outright ask her what he wanted, he had to first ease into that.    
After they stopped to get the chips, Sherlock kept the conversation as light as possible without revealing his intentions to her.

“So, how’s that case of yours going?” Y/n asked as they walked close together as to avoid bumping into anyone. Sherlock looks at her and she smiles, “I know that’s why you asked me to come out with you,” She says, “I’m not stupid, Holmes.”

_Clearly not._

Sherlock watched as she popped a chip into her mouth and he smiles slightly, of course she would figure out what he was doing. He hadn’t expected her to, and in truth, Sherlock should stop underestimating people. “It was worth a try,”   
The girl chuckle, shaking her head at him, “Well, how’s it going then?”

“It’s troublesome,”

“Do you think it’d become less so if you interrogate me?”

Sherlock didn’t get the chance to answer as a loud bang stopped him. Nothing happened at first, but then, from the corner of his eye, he sees Y/n stagger back and fall. It was like time slowed down as he turned to her, the sound of people rushing and shouting around reached his ears as he rushes to her side in a slight panic. “ _Call a bloody ambulance!_ ” Sherlock hears a woman shout from somewhere behind him, but he was too busy trying to stop any more blood from soaking into the white tee-shirt she wore. A pained gasp comes from the girl as he placed more pressure on the bullet wound, he looks up at her face, which was contorted in pain. “Y/n, listen to me, you’re going to be fine.” As he tried to reassure her, he looked around for any sign of the shooter.

“You’re going to be…” Sherlock trails off, spotting someone moving on top of the tall neighboring buildings.

_Sniper shot._


	5. Temporary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlcok thinks it's best that Y/n stays with him sothat he could keep an eye on her, Greg doesn't. Y/n is visited by an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long with the update guys! Enjoy!

Greg Lestrade was frustrated enough as it was. With everything that was going on, the precinct was a mess. Though this was one of the biggest cases NSY has seen in a while, Greg could have gone along his way without hearing that his niece had been shot.

When he had gotten the call, he was in a very important meeting that he had no choice but to leave. He rushed to St. Barts, sirens blazing and praying to God that she was okay.

When he got to the hospital he was a mess. Worry was well written all over him. It didn’t take him long to find her room and the Doctor who had seen about her. Doctor Sharpe, a woman of kind features, told him of Y/n’s damages as they walked up the hall to room 307H.

“She was shot once, in the abdomen,” she says, looking at a file in her hand, “luckily, none of her vital organs were hit, but she did lose a lot of blood.”

Greg felt relieved at hearing that. It was better than hearing that she died. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as they came to a halt outside a pale door, “She’s been sedated but you can still see her,” Dr. Sharpe says. Greg moves to the window in the wall, where he could clearly see his niece. Dr. Sharpe left him not moments later, letting him know to call if he needs anything. Greg barely heard her but he nodded before moving to go into the room.

When he closes the door behind him, he lets out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. Slowly, he walks to the visitor’s chair and sits, bracing his forearms on his thighs and he puts a hand against his mouth, watching his niece. She looked so pale under the white lights of the room, she looked like she was knocking death’s door. The only thing that assured him that she was alive was the steady rise and fall of her chest and the beeping of the heart monitor that seemed so loud to his ears.

Greg rubs his face with his hands, feeling hot tears brim his eyes. He  _never_  wanted to be in a situation like this. One of his loved ones lying in a hospital bed, and there’s always a small chance that something would go wrong. There’s always a chance that they could die. He made a promise a long time ago to Y/n’s father, he promised that he’d look out for her. So far, he’s doing a very lousy job at that.

“It was a sniper shot.”

Greg jumps, turning his head to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. _What was he doing here?_  Greg shook his head, there are more important things to deal with right now, and worrying why Sherlock Holmes was involved wasn’t one.

“Are you sure?” Greg asks, shifting in the cold chair. The detective walks further into the room, and Greg felt uneasy with the way his eyes linger on his niece. “They don’t miss. Not unless it’s deliberate.” Sherlock says.

Greg looks at her, his brow creasing with worry. “Why her?”

“It came as a surprise to me as well, considering I was right next to her at the time.”

Greg blanched, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock and he takes a breath. Now he’s never going to get it out of his head. He was very uncomfortable with the thought that Sherlock Holmes might be seeing his niece. “What were you doing with her then?”

“That shouldn’t be your concern.” Sherlock says, clearly irked, and he looked just as uncomfortable as Greg felt. “Your only concern as of now should be that your niece is on someone’s hit-list.”

Greg curled his fingers into his palm, setting his jaw as he felt a flare of anger rise up in his chest. “Ever thought that the bullet missed you by accident?” he asks darkly, getting up from the chair. Sherlock lets out a heavy sigh and rolls his eyes, “I have a lot of enemies, Lestrade. And if they wanted to shoot me, I would have been shot.”

Greg lets out a puff of air, closing his eyes for a moment. Sherlock was right, he knows. But he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that someone was trying to kill her. What did she do to have someone after her?

“They weren’t trying to kill her of course, it was only a warning.” Sherlock says after a moment, clasping his hands behind his back. “I think it’d be best if she stayed with me.”

Greg immediately disagrees, shaking his head with a scowl. “I don’t think so.” he folds his arms across his chest. Sherlock sighs for the umpteen time, rolling his eyes. An action that annoyed Greg more than it should have. “I’m her family, she stays with me,”

“That’s exactly what they’d expect. That kind of thinking would get you killed.” Sherlock sizes Greg up, “If she’s with you, then you’d both be in danger.” Sherlock glares at Greg and he glares back, he wasn’t going to give up. As much as he hated to say it, he didn’t trust Sherlock Holmes.  _Not with his niece._  He still didn’t know what he was doing with her anyway. He would’ve told himself it wasn’t his business, if it were someone else. But it wasn’t, she’s his niece and it’s damn well his business. He’d go to hell and back before she tangles herself up in whatever Sherlock’s tangled up in.

Sherlock pulled his lips into a thin line, “Trust me, I’ll take care of her.” he says at length.

“I could take care of myself just fine, thank you.” a voice croaks, and the two men turn to face the owner. Y/n was awake, just barely, but she was glaring at the both of them. Not looking to pleased to see either of them there for that matter. Greg turns back to look at Sherlock and nodded towards the door with a tilt of his chin. He wanted him out of the room so that he could have a moment with her.

Sherlock stares at him for a moment, floundering for a bit before leaving. Greg sighs, running a hand through his hair in attempt to calm down before he went back to the chair. Y/n was still glaring at him when he sat down. “What did I do?” he asks and Y/n shakes her head.

“You should thank him you know, he did save my life,” she says pointedly, shifting slightly with a grimace. Greg watches her for a moment and sighs, “I would…” he felt bad now, knowing that just a few moments ago, he wished Sherlock had been here in her stead. But he saved her life. Now he has to thank him  _and_  apologize. He looks up at Y/n, but she wasn’t watching him. He wanted to ask what the hell was going on, he needed to know. If someone was after her, he has the right to know why.

“I think it would be best if I stayed with Holmes.” Y/n says suddenly after the silence got too loud. Greg blinks, all his previous thoughts escaping him. “No. You’re not staying with him. I don’t care what’s going on between the both of you.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Holmes.” Y/n says, looking at him as though he sprouted another head. Greg inwardly sighs, at least he doesn’t have to worry about  _that_ happening. “I just think he’s got a good point.”

_So she’d heard then._

“Y/n,” Greg begins gently, “You know you could tell me anything. I want to know what’s going on. Why’s someone trying to kill you?”   
Y/n reaches over and takes his hand, “I know,” she says, “I’ll tell you… I promise. But not today, I’d put you in danger if you knew,”

“I can help,” Greg protests.

“Not with this. Believe me.” Y/n says, and it frustrated Greg even more now. It was one thing knowing someone was definitely after her, but now she wouldn’t tell him why. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

::

The next two weeks were spent in the hospital with Y/n doing nothing but resting. Greg had allowed her to stay with Sherlock once she got out of the hospital. It wasn’t like he could’ve stopped her from going anyway, she would’ve gone with or without his permission. She had to again assure him that there was  _nothing_  going on between Holmes and herself, she didn’t even know where he got  _that_  stupid idea from.

Y/n had stayed in her room on most days, even though Dr. Sharpe had prompt her to walk around as much as she could, to  _exercise the wound_  as she’d put it. But Y/n couldn’t really do much, she didn’t want to. Not when she was looking over her shoulder every minute. She needed to keep her eyes wide open, she had to keep her guard up. It was only a matter of time now.

Sarah had been in to see her some time ago, which mostly entailed her getting scolded like a child.

_Should’ve been more careful._

_Its just us, now._

Like she didn’t know that. She knew she should’ve been more careful. But she didn’t think twice before she just went out with Holmes. She thought that maybe she’d get a bit of normal, after the hell her life was. Even if his intention was trying to get her to tell him about his new case.

When her two weeks were up and she was discharged and allowed to go home, while she was making sure that she’d packed everything back into her bag, she was visited by someone she’d never thought she’d see again.

“Y/n…”

The woman stood in the doorway, worry creasing her eyebrows as she watched her. Y/n blanched, dropping her bag on the floor, watching the woman come into the room and close the door behind her.

“Renée,” Y/n says quietly, “What are you doing here? You know we’re not supposed to see each other, you’re putting yourself in danger.”

Renée was Tyler’s wife, and like everyone else, Y/n had cut ties with her. So that she could stay out of this mess that was coming back to haunt them. She could only imagine what the woman was going through, now a widow and probably on  _his_  list.

The woman puts her hands up, “I know, but I had to come. Sarah told me what happened.” she says, “I had to make sure you’re alright, and to give you this.”

Renée walks to her, her brown curls bouncing with her movements, she hands her a slip of paper. Ashe looks down at the paper, nodding slightly at it, “I’m leaving for a bit, but if you absolutely need to see me, you can go there,” she says, pointing to the paper before leaving as swiftly as she came.

Y/n puts the slip of paper into a pocket of her bag and finished her packing before shouldering it. She met Sarah outside the Hospital, who agreed to take her home to get her extra things for her stay at Sherlock’s. She didn’t expect to stay long, so she didn’t pack much.

She didn’t mention anything about Renée’s visit, not wanting yo give Sarah another thing to worry about. She was enough like a mother Hen already. The drive to Baker street was quiet, mostly. Small pockets of silence filled with reassurances and promises. Y/n knew Sarah wasn’t going to let her leave the car without making her promise that she’d be okay, twice.

It was no surprise that Holmes was standing outside the black door when they pulled up. He stood there, hands behind his back, barely bothered with them as Y/n said her goodbyes to Sarah.   
“I’ll call you at some point, take care.” Y/n climbs out of the car, waving slightly at the redhead. Sarah nods, watching Holmes for a while before driving off.

“Hi,” Y/n greets and he nods, taking her bag from her before he led her inside. Y/n stops when she sees the stairs and groans, hearing Sherlock chuckle, she turns her head to face him. “I’m glad you find this amusing,” she mutters, climbing the stairs a moment later. Already feeling a dull ache from the wound in her stomach.

Once inside the flat, Y/n follows Sherlock through his kitchen and into his bedroom. “You can stay here for the time being,” he says as he drops her bag at the foot of his bed.

“Thanks for this, Sherlock,” Y/n says and almost laughs at the startled look that crosses his face. Since she’s met him, she’s never called him by his first name. He offers a small smile, “You’re welcome.”


	6. Down the Rabbit hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/n decides to tell Sherlock and John what they need to know about the case. Y/n meets Mycroft.

_Breathe. Just breathe._

Y/n paced around Sherlock's bedroom. Trying to gather her thoughts, like she knew Sherlock left her to do. He's giving her a moment, she knows. But eventually she's going to have to sit and talk. The one thing she doesn't want to do, because when she got out she promised that she'd never drag anyone else into this mess. But of course, a man like Sherlock Holmes must exist.

He couldn't help himself because he just had to know.

There is no denying that she was scared, because she's terrified. She was shot only two weeks ago, and more or less, she was surprised he hasn't come to kill her off for good yet. That was just a warning, as Sherlock said. It's only a matter of time now.

Y/n takes a deep breath, eyeing the door. She know he's out there, sitting in his chair, just patiently waiting. Realising the best course of action is just to let him know what he wants to know, Y/n walks out of the bedroom. And of course, found Sherlock looking directly at her from his chair.

“John, we have a client.”

Y/n sighs, walking forward, standing at the entrance of the kitchen. John pulls a chair from the table near the corner if the room, setting it down for her to sit. Sherlock closes his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers to his mouth.

"Well, have a seat..." John says, and he smiles a bit, trying to possibly ease her nerves, Y/n guessed.

Y/n walks to the chair and sits down.

“Every piece of information is important. Try your best not to leave anything out.” Sherlock says calmly, opening his eyes and staring at her.

With a sigh, Y/n looks down at her hands, her eyes gazing at the carpet. She didn't have to tell them a word actually, she could just leave, because she promised,  _they_  promised never to speak a word of it to anyone. But the only way she was going to get out of this is if she talked. It's the only option she had at the moment, and its the best one.

“Tyler was the one who got tangled up in all of this first. At the time, we had just finished collage and we were all looking for something to do. So we rented a place together, the four of us. We were a few months in, still trying to figure out what we were gonna do with our lives." Y/n kept her eyes on anything but Sherlock, not wanting to look into his eyes as she told him about everything that got her into this whole mess.

She continues, "Everything was as good as it was gonna get. At a point in time, finding a job was tough and we were all struggling. Especially Tyler. We tried to help each other as much as we could... we could've lost our place if Tyler hadn't done what he did.”

Things were a whole lot easier back then. When she didn't have to worry about closing her eyes to sleep and never opening them again. There wasn't someone killing her friends or trying to kill her.

“I think everyone knew about Xavier Garrison at some point. That's where Tyler got the money from. He came home one day with the stupidest smile on his face saying that he paid the month's rent and for month's in advance. He didn't tell us how, not at first anyway. We had to ask him about it on many occasions. Sometimes he'd disappear for weeks on end, and we never heard from him. He'd always come home, though. Always with money and bruises and cuts he could never talk about.

“We got him too, though. One night he came home with broken ribs and Kate couldn't take it. So we cornered him and we questioned him. He begged us not to make him tell, he said it would've dragged us in too. He said that he was always listening. That he wouldn't be able to live with himself if anything happened to us.” Y/n blinks, looking out the window as the bad memory flooded her mind. When everything had crumbled and tumbled down.

John and Sherlock were listening intently, and for once, Sherlock didn't dare interrupt. He watched her with unblinking eyes, something Y/n couldn't help but feel uneasy about, she knew he was picking apart her words, searching for any hint of false.

"He was working for Garrison." Sherlock states and Y/n nods, not at all surprised that he caught on so quickly. "You did too,"

"Eventually.” she sighs, “We got caught up in his mess, Sarah, Kate Tyler and myself. After we found out that he was out and about smuggling items into England."

Sherlock's eyes widens and he looks to John, "Wolf." he mutters. John looked a little confused, if not lost at the mention of the name. And Y/n had no other option but to believe that Sherlock never brought it up with his partner.

"How do you know about that?" she asks, shifting uneasily on the chair and narrowed her eyes at him. She hadn't even gotten to that part yet, of course she had known that Sherlock was in on the case, she just didn't know that he was this deep into it. Sherlock was staring at her, a smug look taking over his features.

"I have my ways." He smirks, "what happened afterwards? Wolf disbanded, why?" his blue eyes narrowed and Y/n sighs.

"We worked for Garrison for two years, and when we couldn't do it anymore, I erased our data so we no longer existed in his system and we left." She says simply.

"That doesn't really explain why someone's trying to kill you. And two others you knew are dead." John finally speaks, watching her curiously. Y/n wrings her hands in her lap, she stares at them for a moment and took a breath.

"We got out, We knew what was going on the inside. He's worried that I'll talk. Which is exactly what I'm doing now." Y/n states, and Sherlock shifts in his chair, eyeing her. 

"Thank you, your assistance is very much appreciated." he says after a moment of silence, his eyes narrowed.  Y/n gives him a stiff nod before getting up and turning to leave them to their thoughts.

“What do you think? She's telling the truth?” John asked once Y/n had closed Sherlock's bedroom door behind herself.

Sherlock's eyes were closed as he ran the new information over in his head, “Of course she was... she had no reason to lie.” he mutters, humming as he pressed his fingers to his mouth in thought, thinking over the new step on this infuriating case. He knew, however, that there were things she purposely left out. But no matter, they were soon to come to light.

::

Over the next few days, Y/n had all but locked herself in Sherlock's room. She only ever came out when she needed to, and since there was a door leading straight to the bathroom from Sherlock's bedroom, seeing her outside was rare. She found no reason to hold any type of conversation with the man,   John was alright, he was kind, unlike Sherlock who everytime Y/n dared to come out of the room he'd look at her in this way.

John assured her that he watches everyone like that and she shouldn't be put off by it, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't stand it, everytime he looked at her, it seemed as though he was picking her apart, he analyzed her every move, just waiting for her to turn and do something that was worthy of his everlasting suspicion. Sometimes she wonders why she agreed to stay with him, but she only then remembers it was for the best and it's about the only thing keeping her alive.

She's met Mrs Hudson, who's just a sweetheart, and her place is as far from Sherlock she could get without causing any problems, so she's popped down for tea once in a while. Sherlock kept her under constant surveillance, much to her chagrin. 

Y/n sat on Sherlock's bed, she had just been laying there, lost in her thoughts as she tried to gather them. Sherlock had a guest over, and so far he and they are having a quiet conversation. That was until, their voices rose a bit, loud enough for them to travel.

She gets off the bed and walks to the door, she was curious to what was being shared between the detective and his friend, she wanted to see of any word of what she told him a few nights ago would pass between them. She opens the door a little way and listened.

“And how are you doing with that case of yours?” a voice asks, and Y/n sticks her head out the door, not at all eavesdropping, she was only curious.

“I'm surprised, Mycroft, you've never been interested in my cases before. Not unless there is something to benefit you.” Sherlock's voice replies, sounding agitated, to say the least.

"And I'm surprised you haven't solved it by now, having trouble are we?" Mycroft muses, and Y/n could just make out the teasing in his tone. She hears Sherlock scoff, and they go silent once more. "I supposed you're a little more than distracted, brother dear."

_Brother?_

Y/n decides to walk out into the kitchen, using the act of getting water as an excuse to hear their conversation. Now she was was defenitly eavesdropping. The man who Sherlock was talking to was sitting in John's chair and Y/n could just see the top of his head. Sherlock hasn't seen her yet and she hoped it stayed that way as she moved quietly to the fridge.

Ignoring the grotesque sight of the body parts John could never stop complaining about, she grabs a bottle water.

"Distracted by what pray tell?" Sherlock asks, sounding genuinely curious to his brother's accusation. She hears Mycroft chuckle, "Oh I think you know very well what I'm talking about...or rather  _who_..the woman who's been sleeping in your bed since Tuesday."

Y/n feels herself perk up, she knew damn well he was talking about her. Smirking to herself, she closes the fridge door and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, gasping in mock horror. Sherlock looked up at her and Mycroft turns in John's chair to face her.

"You should've told me we were gonna have guests, Darling. I would've changed." She says, looking down at her tank top and shorts, she puts her hands on her hips and glares at Sherlock who was staring at her with his moth slightly agape. "Quite rude of you."

" _Quite_ , forgive me." Sherlock glares back at her and Y/n fought the urge to smile at him instead she turned to face Mycroft. He got up out of the chair and  she put her hand out, "Y/n Lestrade, lovely to meet you. I'm the woman who's been sleeping in your brother's bed." Y/n smiles sarcastically.

Mycroft stares at her hand for a moment, and Y/n wiggled her fingers, waiting for him to shake her hand. Eventually, he shook her hand in a firm grip, "Mycroft Holmes,"

Sherlock gets out of his chair, turning his glare to Mycroft. Y/n releases his hand and stepped back as Sherlock led his brother to the door by his shoulders. He grabs the umbrella that stood next to the door and puts it in Mycroft's hand. "Yes, all very good. Pleasure seeing you as always Mycroft." He opens the door and pushes him out, "Text before your next visit so I can know when to leave the flat, thank you."

Sherlock shuts the door firmly, and turned to Y/n. She only smirks and cracks open her bottle of water, "Afraid to let him know what we've been up to?" She asks, tilting her head slightly.

"Believe me  _Darling_ , the only thing I am afraid of is having Mycroft sticking his nose further into my case."

Later that day, Y/n found the piece of paper that Renee gave her at the hospital and she found herself being torn between giving it to Sherlock or keeping it to herself. She stares at it for a moment, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip as she scanned the address on the paper repeatedly.

She wanted Renee to stay safe, as safe as she could, considering what was going on. She figured that Sherlock would connect her to the case on way or another. Sighing, she took the paper to Holmes.

He was in the kitchen, surprisingly, making his own tea. Y/n supposed it was because John went out just an hour ago, so the man had no choice.

"Sherlock." Y/n calls quietly and he looks over his shoulder at her. Walking closer to him, she holds the paper out to him, "This is from Renee Olson...she gave it to me when I was at the hospital. You'll solve this case faster if you talk with her."

Sherlock takes the paper from her, he scans the paper for a minute before looking at her. "You know, you can just tell me everything yourself. I'm certain this case will be finished if you just do that."

Y/n smirks and shakes her head, "What's the fun in that Mr Holmes? I thought you liked a challenge?"

Sherlock didn't look amused, "Who else knows about this?" He asks, waving the paper slightly.

"I'm not sure, but if I know Renee, probably Sarah Willows."


End file.
